March 26, 2011. This was the last time that I ever saw Sean in person.
Wish you were here and that things were the same as they were when I met you with no one to blame… with no illness or madness or distance between us… I wish you were here with desire to fill us… I wish you were riding and we were together… I wish we were writing and we were forever… I wish that the others who found you were kinder… My wishes serve as a constant reminder that wishes mean nothing in the face of disaster… I wish I could hear the sound of your laughter… I wish I inspired it… Although it sounds sappy… I wish you the best and hope that you’re happy.
Written by Jason Wright August 26, 2011
For Sean: who inspired much more and deserves so much better.
The moments between us are filled with such stillness…
Cherished, Exchanged, Sharing our stories…
With chapters in common and frank allegories…
He gives it to me and I’m touched without touching…
He whispers to me and I’m flushed without blushing…
He leaves me with passion transcended to form…
The canvas is thunder; his heart is the storm.
The sea of emotion by these colors rendered;
the work of a man who never surrendered,
The man in the painting who’s insides are bruised…
Is haunted by faces that used and abused.
Some of the faces are drugs that he’s taken…
Others are ghosts that still leave him shaken…
Some are illusions, Others invented, Some are the sins that he’s never repented.
Others are faces of boys he’s not dated…
He thought that he had but they really translated into nights meaning nothing except what he’s losing…
For riches imagined and instrument moving…
The face is the horror of waiting untasted…
The face is my mirror…
The face of time wasted.
Written By Jason Wright August 14, 2011
For: Johnny Vaughn, who’s artwork inspired it.
Johnny V passed away a little over 6 years after I wrote this. He was a caring friend when I deeply needed one. He and I had shared history but his adventures had been with people who were only ever on my periphery and I cherished each and every story that he gifted me with. He was also a brilliant painter and gave me the work that inspired this poem, though I also put in as many references to his tales that only he might recognize. I’m gratified that he read this and had such a positive reaction.
